


Dogs Don't Understand Basic Concepts Like Imprisonment

by orphan_account



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Biting, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, Hurt/Comfort, Hypnosis, Magic, Self-Harm, Wrongful Imprisonment, chewing, nonconsensual bondage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-06 19:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1869393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In response to this prompt on the kink meme: http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/3819.html?thread=6715115#cmt6715115</p><p>Title after the inimitable Allie Brosch. http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/11/dogs-dont-understand-basic-concepts.html</p><p>I've altered it a little. I started drafting the Hannibal and Will scenes, and I couldn't bear to make them evil. So this is self-indulgent, werewolf-based hurt/comfort.</p><p>Will is falsely accused of wrongful devourment, and suffers through the abusive werewolf-management system, while Hannibal tries to get him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Will Graham rode in the back of a windowless van, accompanied by two orderlies. He did not try to speak to them. He was bound tightly in a straitjacket, arms crossed over himself, the straps digging into him through the thin cloth of his scrubs. His mouth was muzzled with a plastic bite guard, and he was strapped to a device more like a hand truck than anything used to transport a living thing. He wished they could’ve used a wheelchair. At least that would have been less conspicuous. But policy was policy, and the Lycanthrope Act (to which Virginia, Maryland, and seventeen other states were signatory) stated very clear policy for transporting dangerous werewolves.

Will felt the van slowing. The orderlies started moving him, still not speaking to him. They must be there.

He closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath. He knew he should be happy; he was going outside. Not many of his neighbors had that privilege. He was back at work, serving the community. That was better than skulking around a cell all day. At least it would give him something to think about.

He opened his eyes on a mild spring day, a grassy field far away from any houses. He couldn’t help sniffing the air, straining against his bonds to scent out the plants and animals around him. The environment was so much richer than the monotonous smell of fear-sweat and bleach that ran all through the hospital. One of the orderlies cast him a disgusted look when they noticed his sniffing, but he pretended not to see. He made a blank in his mind around the orderlies, the hand truck, and the fucking plastic muzzle. He tried to pretend that it was back before his trial, that he was walking under his own power, and the discomfort in the eyes of his coworkers was only from the case in front of them and not from seeing him carted around like a dead body.

Hannibal was the first to step forward. He looked the same as always. He wore a long, plaid cloak over an immaculate suit, and his expression was calm, only his eyes betraying anxiety.

“Will.” He put a hand on Will’s shoulder. Politeness demanded that he nod to the orderlies in acknowledgment, but his focus was entirely on his friend.

“It’s good to see you.” Will’s voice was cracked. He hadn’t spoken much lately. He wasn’t expected to.

“And you.” He stayed at Will’s side while one of the orderlies moved him over next to Jack.

The body in front of him had been a white man in his late teens or early twenties. It was full of baseball-sized holes, in the gut, the head, down one of the legs. It was like the killer was looking for something in the body and didn’t know where to find it.

“Travis March. Found earlier today by a hiker. Time of death around eight hours previous, blunt force trauma to the back of the head.”

This was Jack’s greeting.

“What made those holes in his body?” Will asked. He couldn’t get close enough to see for sure, but the holes looked smooth and regular. Almost like someone had been at him with a giant melon baller.

“We don’t know. We’ll run it through the database once we get it back to the lab, but I wanted to keep the scene fresh for you.”

“That’s very thoughtful.”

It was... it was such a beautiful day. Will could smell the fresh grass and the musk of raccoons and squirrels in the field. But he had a job to do, and the only reason he was outside of the hospital was to get into the mind of a killer. He pushed away thoughts of his pack, of running and tussling with them in the clean air. That wasn’t part of his life right now, and he couldn’t afford a distraction. He closed his eyes and let the pendulum swing.

_I walk into the meadow with Mr. March. It’s dark, and we can see the stars. He knows I’m here, but he doesn’t know what I am. He can’t._

_I don’t want to do it. I drag the evening out, thinking I won’t have to. But the time comes, and I know I do. I feel compelled. When he turns his back to me, I strike._

_I deliver blow, killing him quickly. I have done this before. I don’t need him to suffer, or even to see who killed him. I only need him to hold still long enough for me to look._

_Frantically, I kneel over his body. I roll it onto its back and take out my tools. I brought them, because I knew I would need them._

_I search the chest first, digging in and throwing the extra flesh away like trash. It’s not in the chest. I try the head. What I want isn’t there either. I become more agitated as I move down the body, cutting holes at random. My cuts become ragged. Eventually, I have to give up, to leave before I’m caught, unsatisfied. This is not my design._

Will fought off a wave of nausea as he came back to reality. Sweat beaded on his forehead and made his uniform clammy under the straitjacket. “The killer knew the victim.” He licked his dry lips. He had to struggle to ignore the smell of the decaying body. “The victim came here willingly, without a struggle. He’s killed before. The death is clean, practiced.”

“We know that, Will,” Jack said. “I need you to tell me _why_.”

“He... he’s looking for something. Something March had that he didn’t. Something he thought was inside him. He would have known the other victims too, at least for a short time. He hasn’t found what he’s looking for, and he’s getting more desperate.”

“And what is he looking for?” Jack’s eyes were steely, as if he thought Will were holding out on him.

“I don’t know.” He wished he could think of something, if only so he could stay outside longer, but there was nothing. His mind ran over and over the question, and his gut sank, knowing he’d see the murder in his dreams.

Jack sighed. “All right. I was hoping for more, but that’s a start. We’ll send the reports to you once we have them, and I’ll keep you updated.”

Will nodded. He’d done his work here, and it was time to go. He took a deep breath of the air, trying to memorize the clean smell while blocking out the blood and dead human.

Before the orderlies could wheel him away, Hannibal stood in front of him and touched his face, above the bite mask. He pressed into the contact hungrily.

“Dr. Lecter!” Jack frowned. He clearly wanted his magic consultant to stop, but was reluctant to physically pull him away. It was against policy to touch a dangerous werewolf without authorization, but Hannibal continued undisturbed.

“I will visit you tomorrow. It won’t be long.”

Will bit his lip and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He couldn’t even turn to hide his face until the hand truck was wheeled around and pushed back into the van.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal visits Will in the hospital and continues his treatment.

Hannibal stood in front of the visiting room and raised his arms. A guard checked under his cloak for contraband and found him clean.

“Do you have adequate anti-werewolf protection?” he read off the checklist.

“I hardly think it necessary,” Hannibal said. Will was as gentle as a lamb, in wolf form or not. Even if he did have the spontaneous transformation condition his accusers claimed, Hannibal couldn’t picture him attacking.

“I’m sure Dr. Sutcliffe didn’t either. Now, do you have a ward, or do you need one of ours?”

Hannibal gave him a steely, displeased look, and took a silver chain from his neck. The guard inspected it. There was a small metal tag with the charm’s specifications.

“Sixteen demiergs? He’s not an imp.” He handed the charm back. “Standard is fifty. I’ll get you one of ours.”

“Sixteen psions,” Hannibal corrected.

“Psions?”

“It is calibrated in the metric system.”

The guard sighed. It was late, and his job description didn’t include converting standard to metric. “I have to test it,” he said.

“Please do.”

The guard took the chain back and pulled a wand from his pocket, one of the smooth, uniform rowan wands the hospital issued to its staff. He spoke a charm of testing and touched the wand to the silver chain.

Hannibal did not smile when his charm sparked with power and the guard almost dropped it with the shock, but he was pleased.

The guard handed it back to him, clearly annoyed. “Good to go, then,” he said.

Hannibal put the chain back on and followed him into the room. Will was already seated and chained to the table. His arms were covered in raw, deep punctures.

“Will!” Hannibal rushed to his side and diligently started cleaning the wounds. They were an ugly red and smelled of the beginnings of infection. “What happened?”

“He did it to himself,” said the guard. “We had to muzzle him. Almost took my hand off, didn’t you?”

Will bared his teeth at the condescending tone, even though it didn’t help his case. Hannibal stroked his face to calm him and took a vial of holy man’s tears from his cloak. “This will speed the healing,” he said. He looked at the guard coldly. “I assume you have gauze?”

The guard rolled his eyes, but he sent one of his coworkers to the supply room.

“Did you bite yourself, Will?” Hannibal asked. He wouldn’t put it past the hospital to let one prisoner attack another. But Will nodded, turning his face away in shame.

“Why?”

Will shrugged sullenly. “Wanted to see how I’d taste.”

“Was he given anything appropriate to chew?” Hannibal asked the guard.

“Like what?”

“Wood, rubber, bone, or rope are favored. Although any material is preferable to his own flesh.” He kept his tone even, but it was a struggle.

“This is a hospital, not a doggy daycare.”

“This is a hospital where you left a nervous wolf alone, separated from his pack, in a small, unfamiliar cell, without a chewing item. I am not surprised he injured himself. I am surprised if any of your patients do not.”

The guard looked as though he wanted to strike him, but he was distracted by the return of his friend with the bandages. He tossed them onto the table and glared at Hannibal quietly.

Hannibal took them up and began to cover Will’s injuries, petting him when he balked at having his arms handled. “Shh. You’ll be all right. There, just a few bite marks. They will heal soon.” He wound the bandage snugly around his arm while Will fought back his tears. “Did they let you see the veterinarian?” he asked.

Will shook his head.

“I will file an objection with the conduct board. The more complete our records, the better for your case.”

Will gave him a tense smile. “I’m sure the conduct board will be shocked.”

Hannibal sighed. Perhaps they wouldn’t be. Freeing his friend was going to take more than the orthodox channels. “I would hope so.” He pulled away, resisting the urge to kiss Will’s head. He took his usual seat across the table from him and centered himself. “Now we’ve dispensed with that excitement, would you like to begin?”

Will nodded and wiped off his eyes, trying to bring himself back to neutral. “Any time.”

Hannibal summoned a small orb of darkness, just a faint shimmer in the air between his hands. He eschewed the use of a wand, preferring to work barehanded or with ceremonial knives. “I want you to relax. Let your body go limp, starting at your feet and moving up. To your legs. Your torso. Your arms, out to your fingers. Your shoulders. And your head.” He spoke rhythmically. There was an element of conventional hypnosis in this. As Will let his eyes fall closed, Hannibal released the dark energy, spreading it out over his patient in a wave and bringing him into a still, painless trance.

He stood, moving his chair back from the table to make space to work. The sullen guard tried not to look intrigued as he brought forth Will’s mind into the air between them, a bright pattern of interwoven colors, translucent and faint.

Sometimes Will’s mind was a deep body of water. Sometimes it was a jigsaw puzzle. Usually, as tonight, it was a tangle of colored yarn, looped and knotted around itself. Hannibal began to work, gently untangling the strands. He knew some of them did not belong to Will. They were disconsonant bright reds that were painful to the touch, or the deep green color of rot. He could not excise these strands, but he could loosen their grip on Will’s mind and give it room to function.

He wound the thread through his fingers, this way and that way, careful not to lose track of the strands and tangle them worse. As his fingers worked, his mind worked as well, puzzling out how he could get an innocent werewolf out of a place like this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is hard for an institutionalized werewolf, but Hannibal is there to comfort him.

The first night of the full moon was nearing. It had never used to bother Will. He was comfortable with his wolf self. He wasn’t comfortable with Homeland Security’s Magic Office making him check in all the time, or with the dirty looks when he bought Wolf-Eeze for the transformation cramps, or the whispering around the FBI or the comparisons to a sniffing dog or the expectation that he run with a human pack, but the wolf time itself had always felt very natural. Freeing, in a way. A chance to get a new perspective and clear his mind. He used to take off his clothes, wait for nightfall, and leave the door cracked so he and his little pack could slip out to romp around the fields.

Now that he was in the hospital, he’d started to dread it. His human mind could ignore things. As a human, he had the capacity for abstract thought that let him drift away from the dirty little cell and imagine he was outside and free, somewhere safe. As a wolf, he was just a scared, trapped animal that didn’t know that he would ever get out. His emotions were overwhelming without a frontal cortex to temper them, and he paced, scratched, gnawed, and howled along with the other despairing creatures in the neighboring cells, listening desperately for the familiar voices of his dogs and finding no one.

His cycle had changed, too. It used to be three nights a month, longer at perigee. Now it was five at least, the consequence of too little sunlight and too much wolf-stink filling up the hall. The first time in his life his transformation span got longer was the first time he really wished he was fully human. He sat on his cot, trying not to dwell on it. It was all he could do to keep from howling right then.

He wiped his eyes when the guards came to his cell. He stood up straight to let them cuff his hands behind his back and collar his neck. He was meeting Dr. Lecter again, and he didn’t want to look like he was giving in to despair.

***

Hannibal smiled at Will when he entered the room. A small smile, like all of them were. A look of encouragement.

Will frowned, scenting something unusual and trying to place it. Hannibal’s smile turned more genuine. “Good morning, Will. I see you’ve discovered my surprise.” He took a blanket from the folds of his cloak and put it on the table. “Go ahead,” he said when Will hesitated to touch it. “It’s for you.”

The blanket was light blue and fuzzy. It showed signs of use. Wear in the middle and a layer of—he sniffed it hard to see that it was true. Dog hair! He held the precious blanket to his face and took in the scents of all his friends, rubbing it on his cheek and whining like a puppy, his dignity forgotten. The tears came back, and he clung to the blanket, his memory flooding with friendly muzzles and warm coats.

“Thank you.” His voice was just a rasp. It was all he could manage. “Are—are they okay?”

“They miss you. But Alana cares for them well. They ask after you.” Hannibal didn’t understand the dogs with the fluency that Will did, but he had a gift for languages. “They don’t understand why you have been taken away.”

Will laughed. “That makes eight of us.” He pulled the blanket over himself like a mantle, wrapping himself up in the musk of his friends. Hannibal could almost see his sympathetic nervous system disengaging.

“I brought this, for later.” Another wave of his hand, and he held a thick soup bone. He set it on the table and moved around to Will’s side. 

Will leaned into him, eager to be touched by someone safe. “Thank you.” Hannibal skritched his head, and he nuzzled him, some of the tension leaving his body.

“Hey,” said the guard. “This a therapy session, or a puppy-pile?”

Will flinched, but Hannibal held him close. “A species-typical human requires physical contact for their wellbeing. To a werewolf, it is essential. If Will is to survive this hospital’s ‘treatment,’ his immediate needs must take priority over any long-term goals.”

The guard glared at them, but he didn’t make them stop. Will snuggled into Hannibal’s arms, bowing his head. His nerves were soothed by the successful route of the guard’s challenge. He thought that maybe he wouldn’t mind having a human in his pack, if it were someone like Hannibal. “You’d make a good werewolf,” he said.

“Animals are not so foreign to human thought. Many cultures practice skinwalking; intentional lycanthropy, usually with a large, carnivorous mammal as the target species. Those who assume the animal’s form are seen as powerful and wise.”

“Not as a national security risk?” Will asked. “Maybe I should move.”

That day, Will’s mind was a long, dark path through a wood. Hannibal tried, but he couldn’t get a view from above to see the whole. He couldn’t manipulate it as he did with the strands of yarn. He could only walk it, guided by its shape but unable to see the destination.


End file.
